


To Build A Home

by xSparklingRavenx



Category: End of Eternity | Resonance of Fate
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSparklingRavenx/pseuds/xSparklingRavenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s an abandoned factory on the outskirts of 11th Street, and for Vashyron, it looks like the perfect place to build a home.</p><p>A look into the years leading up the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Build A Home

**Author's Note:**

> WOW this got long. It wasn't meant to become this lengthy, but I couldn't help myself! Because this is set primarily before the game began, this is pretty much headcanons galore (I have far too many), but I hope you enjoy it!

On the outskirts of 11th Street there is a factory. Small, unassuming, but nonetheless continuously working day in and day out. Day after day it churns out items that are as unassuming as it's existence; mining tools for quartz. In the morning the people go to work, and in the evening they file out one by one ready to return home to their families. And so, like clockwork, like the gears that run through the factory, its existence remains. The small tool factory in the edge of 11th street.

But then it happens. Spontaneous Death Syndrome rips through Basel like a wildfire, and it chooses its victims without mercy. Men, women, children - it doesn't matter who you are. Prelate Frieda falls, and no one is safe. It's origins are unknown. The Cardinals fly into panic.

The mines on Level 11 are shut down. Miners are not in strong demand. The small, unassuming factory on 11th Street finds itself unneeded in a world in peril, and soon the notice comes for its closure. With funding gone and no requirement for mining tools any longer, the evening comes when the employees file out for a final time, never to return.

And a year goes by. Two years, three years, _fifteen._ The factory is left forgotten, gathering dust in its gears as the weather wears away at its foundations. The threat of Spontaneous Death Syndrome slowly goes away as cases get more and more spread apart, but mining never returns to its former glory. The citizens of Ebel City gradually forget about it, the building fading into the peripheral of the town as just something they're _used_ to. Nobody goes inside, no work is done, but the gears carry on turning resolutely.

In the bitter winter of the factory's sixteenth year of abandonment, something changes. The snow is falling as a young man comes up the path, eyes shadowed with horrors only he can understand. Vashyron doesn't know Ebel City well; he's only _here_ right now because Theresa had told him he had to be. "It's time to move on, Vashyron," she'd said, which he personally had thought was the most hypocritical statement he had ever heard considering she was still wearing her black mourning gown, still dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "Find somewhere new to live. Begin again."

And wasn't that easy to say when she didn't know the half of it. She didn't watch that... _thing,_ whatever it was, slaughter his comrades in cold blood, slaughter _Victor._ She didn't feel the agony as it punched through his chest like it was made from paper, didn't feel the fear as it regarded him with shock - and then there's that moment which he can't remember, which is probably the scariest part of it all. He should have died. He should be dead along with Victor and the rest of them but he's not because something saved him - he just doesn't know _what._

But he has his payout now, thousands and thousands of rubies. It needs to last him, because he's jobless now and he has no idea what to do next. Who would take a soldier with the reputation he has now? The thought of being a soldier again sickens him to his stomach anyway. No. Never again. He falters, stopping in front of the factory. He stares up at it, the snow settling up on its balcony.

"Haven't seen you around here before," the feminine voice brings his attention to his left. A young woman in a red dress and heavy jacket stands on the pathway, a sweet smile on her face. "Are you visiting?"

"I'm looking for a place to live, actually." he hasn't got it in him to flirt with her. "Cutting ties, and all that."

"Oh, is that so?" she says, her smile not falling. "Then, Ebel City is a nice place. Being so close to Chandelier makes it even better, right? Are you moving up, or down?"

"Up, I think."

"So you're from Cranktown?"

Vashyron gestures vaguely. Anything would be up from the army barracks. "Not really. Something like that. I'm Vashyron."

"Posey," the woman says. "So, what type of place are you looking for."

"Anything, really." he replies. He jerks his thumb towards the factory. "What's this?"

"That?" she looks vaguely perplexed for a moment, and then she shrugs. "Just an old abandoned factory, I think. No one uses it anymore. Why?"

"Is it cheap?"

"Why-oh!" Realisation dawns on her face. "You'll have to do a lot of renovation on that if you want to use it as a house, I'm sure. Wouldn't that be expensive?"

Expensive, yes, but it would also allow him to customise it however he wants. A perfect bachelor pad. "It's pretty big, though, don't you think?"

"It is, but I think you'll need to get a lot of permits and things... are you sure? Wouldn't it be easier to find an ordinary house? I'll take you around town if you want. I don't have anything else to do right now."

She's right. It _would_ be easier to just buy an ordinary house. So, he lets her give him the tour. There's a guild for P.M.F's, a clothing store, an ammunition place, various other basic shops, and of course, there are a variety of homes.

But nothing feels quite _right._ He's a soldier with nothing to live for, yet he lives on anyway. He needs _something_ to do, something to give him purpose. So when she finally returns him to the front of the factory, he thanks her for her time and gets to work. For the first time in sixteen years the factory sees life again. Permits, money, who he's going to hire to do the renovations - it almost drains his entire pay check.

So perhaps it's in his favour that there's a P.M.F guild right down the street.  

 _~x~_

The factory is great as a home. Two bedrooms - one up on the balcony, the other just past the living room, a _huge_ lounge area, a kitchen and bathroom - it's the best decision he's ever made. If nothing else, it helps his healing process along. Maybe Theresa was right after all. In three months he's working small jobs as a hunter, slowly furnishing the place. Sofa, TV, coffee table, _wine cabinet._ He lugs a bed into the downstairs bedroom and sleeps in there the nights he doesn't fall asleep in front of the TV. Other evenings are spent in Le Chit Chat Noir on Level Seven. He picks up women, drinks, and for the first time in a while he's having _fun._

Ebel City itself gets better and better too. Soon he's on first name terms with most of the citizens, saying hello to Posey and Betty and Allcott as he heads down to the guild every morning and barely avoids long winded conversations with Rose. Sometimes he sees Izzy scrapping up metal, other times he'll see Miranda buying up material for Lily's Boutique. They say hello back and all of a sudden he fits in like he's always been there. It's more than he could have asked for.

Things start to look up, and with the pay check from his first _big_ job he gets Izzy to put up a sign on the factory. _Sweet Home,_ it says, because that's what it is. It's a little haphazard and ever so slightly off, but it somehow fits with the town's aesthetic. They're not Chandelier. They don't have to be perfect.

But there's something missing from Vashyron's existence. The house, while homely, is empty. When the TV's not on and he's lying in bed listening to the gears turn, it becomes oddly apparent that he's well and truly alone. He lost his only real friend when Victor died. The townspeople are good, but they're not people he can _confide_ in. He may not look it to them, but he's got his own baggage too.

He takes more jobs, goes to the bar more, picks up women more frequently.  His reputation grows. Vashyron, a successful P.M.F who will do anything you need for the money. He blocks out his loneliness with guns, through jobs or the Arena. Time passes quickly. Two years go by of him living the same life, performing the same routine. It's all he can do to stop loneliness from swallowing him whole.

The first time a Cardinal calls upon him, he performs the job effortlessly. A simple recon mission against rebels, but he's praised for his abilities and focus. He visits Theresa and when they drink together  she says, "I'm so happy for you, Vashyron."

He clinks his glass against hers as she lifts it and says, "Honestly? I'm pretty happy too, actually."

"I knew you'd do well in life," she smiles. "You have the marvellous ability to make the most of any situation."

"You think too much of me, Theresa," Vashyron says, leaning back in his chair. She laughs. "What? It's true."

"I don't think so at all." she puts down her glass and stands, smoothing out her dress. "I'll put my word in for you to the other Cardinals. The business will do you good."

The second time Vashyron takes on a job from a Cardinal, he ends up bringing home the target.

 _~x~_

He must be insane. That's the only explanation, because no one in their right mind would do anything of the calibre of _this._

He deposits the boy on the couch, leaning against the coffee table as he tries to still his shaking hands. His jacket is bloodstained, but it's nothing compared to the red blemishes on the kid's rags of an outfit. Something _happened_ back there that Vashyron can't explain, just like how something happened to _him_ back in Lucia. A miracle. Vashyron isn't a religious man by any means, but he just shot a fifteen year old boy twice in the head in a place of God and the boy _lived._

He's unconscious right now and Vashyron is at a loss. He breathes in and out slowly, running through the options in his mind. What about when he wakes up? Try and talk it out? Hold a gun to him? Would shooting him even _do anything?_ He doesn't look it right now but the kid is a _murderer._ The seminary's ruins flash in his memory, Lagerfeld's horrified expression, the terror of the boy as Vashyron pulled the trigger.

He's gone and done it now. His reputation as a hunter is down the pan and once Lagerfeld lets this out he'll never work for a Cardinal again. His job is to kill the target, not take it home. And that's if the kid doesn't try and kill him first. He locks the guns away that night, makes sure any potential weapons are hidden. He's already done one stupid thing tonight, and he's not prepared to do anything more. He doesn't change his clothes, instead dropping onto his bed as is.

The gears of Sweet Home churn like a lullaby. He sleeps fitfully, the idea that him and the kid are _connected_ somehow plaguing him no end. The boy cheated death just like him. There has to be a reason. Tomorrow he will have to wake up and face the music.

When morning comes, though, it is screaming rather than music that wakes him from sleep. Vashyron is out in the lounge in record time, only pausing to grab his gun from the bedside table and shove it into his holster. He throws open the bedroom door, coming face to face with the kid. He clutches at his hair, shrieking loud enough to send even gremlins running. Is he actually _awake?_ Vashyron is at a loss. Does he pull the gun on him _now?_ Does he try and talk him down? Does he baby him outright?

"Hey," Vashyron holds his hands out away from his weapon, showing his palms. He approaches carefully. The kid's unarmed. and if he does snap Vashyron can still grab the gun. "Hey, come on, listen to me-"

He thrashes suddenly, showing no sign of stopping. Caught in a nightmare? He gets close in one quick movement and grabs the boy by the shoulders, his grip tight. "Hey! Snap out of it!

Abruptly, everything falls silent as the kid's eyes open instantly. He blinks hard and then seemingly realises who's got him, looking up at Vashyron with wide, terrified eyes. "Y-you," he rasps, coughing harshly as he trips over the words.

"Me." Vashyron confirms, letting go. The boy shrinks back into the couch. "Are you actually awake now, or are you going to start screaming all over again? I've got neighbours, you know."

The boy doesn't respond. He wraps his arms around his knees and buries his head into them. His shoulders tremble. Vashyron waits a second before opening his mouth again. "So now you're not going to talk to me? Well, that's unfortunate. I was hoping to get an insight into that head of yours. I guess it's better than you going for me, but I've got questions that need answers." he waits for a reply, but gets none. "This is going to be entertaining, isn't it? Me asking questions and you pulling the silent act."

Nothing. He waits  a beat but the kid just says nothing at all. He sighs heavily and turns away. There's no point in wasting his time here.

"I...I should be dead."

He stops, turns back. It's the most broken thing Vashyron has ever heard. This boy is a killer, he reminds himself, but he's not acting like one right now. "What was that?"

The boy still hasn't brought his head up, and the words are muffled. "Why didn't you kill me?"

Vashyron relaxes his posture. "I tried," he says, shrugging as if it doesn't affect him. "Or don't you remember that part? But something chose to save you. A miracle if you like."

The kid flinches violently as he says 'miracle', as if someone has physically struck him. "Miracles don't exist," he whispers, his arms tightening around his knees. "If they did, none of this would have happened...God doesn't care, or He would have saved them! Where were those 'miracles' then!"

He's treading on thin ice, having clearly struck a nerve. He's got to diffuse this somehow. "Look, kid," Vashyron begins, approaching him again. "I saw what you did in there. I don't know why you did it, but I was sent there to kill you. And I don't know why, but something - and I never said it had to be _God -_ but something decided you were worth saving. So you sit there and mull over that. I've got work to do."

He finally, _finally,_ lifts his head, regarding him with the brightest blue eyes Vashyron has ever seen. "I did it because...because..."

"Because?"

He suddenly clutches at his hair again, eyes slamming shut. "No, no, no, no..."

Vashyron sighs, but he takes a seat on the other end of the couch nonetheless. It creaks horrendously. "We don't have to talk about it now, but I want an answer soon. So you think about that, because I'm not keeping you here if you're going to be a threat to me, clear?" he pauses, letting that sink in before asking his next question."So, you got a name?"

Silence. His hands go back around his knees as he rests his chin on them, eyes looking at the blank TV screen vacantly. "Mine's Vashyron," he tries again. "It's common courtesy to give someone your name, you know."

It's like beating a dead horse. After a few more seconds he gets back up. He hasn't got time to waste. He heads for the kitchen instead, because when he said he had work to do he wasn't lying and he can't work without a decent breakfast in him.

As he reaches the door, the boy suddenly speaks up. "Zephyr," he says.

And it's progress. Somewhat, anyway.

 _~x~_

One thing that becomes abundantly clear the longer Vashyron lives there is Ebel City's predisposition to black outs. Every so often without a doubt the lights will go out without warning and the morally questionable film Vashyron would be comfortably watching with a beer in hand would sputter out in one short burst. It's not really the fault of Sweet Home, but more the city itself. One would say it adds character. Vashyron sees it as nothing more than annoyance.

The first time it happens with Zephyr in the house is disconcerting more than anything else. Vashyron doesn't extend his trust very easily, and Zephyr has still yet to gain it. He's done nothing but mooch around Sweet Home and take up one whole bedroom as of yet, and has not so much as extended any kind of explanation for Crank Seminary. He's still, as far as Vashyron is concerned, a live wire that could spark at any moment, and for someone who's job means there are guns _everywhere_ that possibility leads to some very, very dangerous scenarios.

When the lights snap off, Zephyr actually jumps beside him on the couch, head turning right and left. He doesn't say anything, because Zephyr and words don't seem to mix well, apparently, but he does look eventually look to Vashyron for explanation. "Just the power station," he explains. "It does this occasionally. Sometimes I'll go and fix it, but not today."

Zephyr stands up. Vashyron squints in the dark to try and make out his expression, He doesn't _seem_ like he's going to snap, which still isn't much of a consolation. "Because I'm here, right?" it's more of a statement than a question. "Don't you have a back-up generator?"

"So you're not being a sour-puss today? Good to know." He vaguely manages to make out that Zephyr is scowling at him. "Okay, okay, sorry. And yeah, actually, it's up by the room you've taken over. But, in this dark I'll end up either tripping up the stairs or falling down the hatch and breaking my neck, so yeah, I'm content to just wait here for someone to go down to the power station and fix the general thing."

Zephyr looks right and left, and then pulls awkwardly at the sleeve of his shirt.  They still need to take a trip down to Lily's boutique to get him some _real_ clothes, but Zephyr in a public environment still makes him uneasy. "How do you make it work?"

"You're going to go up there?" Vashyron asks, raising an eyebrow. "Fine, if you want. When you fall down the hatch, don't come crying to me."

"I can see just fine." Zephyr says. "Fine enough to tell you that your face looks stupid like that."

And doesn't that take _him_ by surprise. "Hey, watch your mouth. The owner of the face you're insulting is also the one who buys you food and gives you a place to sleep. And I'll have you know, this face is _divine."_ Zephyr doesn't laugh, but Vashyron _thinks_ he sees the beginnings of a smirk as he rolls his eyes. Since when were they comfortable enough to make jokes? "There should be a lever on the side. If it doesn't work after pulling it, just kick it."

Zephyr marches his way up the stairs with purpose, and to Vashyron's astonishment he doesn't come tumbling down them, nor does he drop through the ceiling. A few minutes later, the lights come back on in Sweet Home, and Zephyr returns, sitting back down next to him.

Vashyron doesn't say anything, and neither does Zephyr. The TV buzzes. They watch the film together and actually, it's not that disconcerting after all.

 _~x~_

That next year is one of growth for the both of them. While his nightlife grinds to a halt, he finds having Zephyr around isn't such a bad payoff. However, it soon becomes clear that Vashyron can't make enough to keep the two of them on his own, and eventually he realises that he's going to need a second team-mate to help him out in doing bigger jobs for larger pay. Their first trip to the Arena ends in mishap when the gunfire triggers something in Zephyr and sends him into a trembling heap. The second trip and third trips are somewhat better - at least he sits and watches Vashyron demonstrate those times around. By the fourth trip it's clear he's growing restless, and by the fifth he's actually participating. It's progress.

And Zephyr does get better, more trustworthy. He's moody, unstable, not the best team player, but underneath it all he's a good fighter when he wants to be. And the jobs keep getting bigger. Lagerfeld never released the details of the Seminary so they're safe. Only Theresa knows through his own confessions to her, and he plans to make it stay that way.

Of course, there are blips. One year to the day they met is the most alarming. Zephyr refuses to leave his room for _anything,_ and shouts back at Vashyron every time he comes near his room to try and coax him out. Other days are just bad for Zephyr in general, but the good ones outweigh the bad and slowly, Sweet Home feels more and more like, well, a _home_ rather than just a house.

And then, on Christmas Day, he loses sight of Zephyr at the festival on Level 1. Twenty minutes later he watches him plummet from the clock tower to his doom hand in hand with a girl in a white dress.

Needless to say, that puts a downer on his evening.

 _~x~_

He finds them on Level 8, making their way back up, not as the pancakes he thought they'd be. Instead, they actually look rather unharmed all things considering. A flurry of different thoughts rush through his mind. They're _alive?_ How? How is that possible? His heart calms in his chest as he grabs a hold of Zephyr by his jacket. "What were you thinking!"

Zephyr, of all things, actually looks _surprised._ "Vashyron? Where did you- I'm fine! Get off me." he brushes Vashyron's hand away, turning to the girl. "Uh. this is the guy I was talking about. He's okay, I guess. Well, better than okay. We work together."

He sounds so gentle all of a sudden. The girl looks at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression, her eyes like dinner plates. "Um, ah, um..."

"She says her name is Leanne. I was going to let her go back home but then she sort of followed me. So I let her." Zephyr's voice is low, his cheeks dusted pink. "She's sort of um...well, I don't think she should be left alone anyway. Maybe."

There's a lot of stuttering going on here. "Why did the two of you fall out of the sky?" Vashyron asks, because sometimes in life, he actually needs straight answers.

"Um, that was my fault." the girl - Leanne - volunteers. "I jumped and he came and caught me. Kind of."

That sends alarm bells ringing in his head. "You _jumped?"_

"It was some, um, special circumstances. To tell the truth...I don't know how I'm alive right now. I shouldn't be."

"You just _fell from Chandelier._ I think I speak for everyone when I say _no,_ you shouldn't be." Vashyron sighs, putting his hands in his pockets. "So, what, was there some safety net that just _miraculously_ happened to save you?"

Zephyr narrows his eyes. Oh, he'd used the taboo word. " _No,_ " he says pointedly. "I don't know what happened. But we're not dead, so that's that."

Vashyron looks between him and the girl. This is all getting very hard to deal with. "I'm sorry for following him," the girl says to Vashyron. "It's just...I don't have anywhere else to go."

Zephyr deliberately makes eye contact with him and Vashyron is sure in that moment that if he tells the girl that they don't have the room to accommodate her he will be cleaning his own blood off the pavement. Well. Maybe that's giving Zephyr too much credit. There'll be a temper tantrum and a half though, and Zephyr's temper tantrums are things of mythical status. That is to say, they need to be avoided.

So he sighs, shakes his head in disbelief, and says, "We've got a spare bed."

They don't. Zephyr knows it's a lie but he gleefully decides not to say anything. And so, that night, Vashyron sleeps on the couch.

And for some reason, he sleeps on it again the night after that, and then the next. And then a week has passed, a month, and he's still there.

 _~x~_

With three people, Sweet Home is suddenly _alive._ The gears almost sing with energy as Vashyron gets up every morning - and maybe that's an exaggeration, but there's something comforting about having a third person in the house. For so long it had been him alone. With Zephyr came a lot of work, but he'd started to heal the loneliness, and with Leanne, it's like a breath of fresh air in their stagnant home. She has an interesting effect, not just on Sweet Home itself, but the both of them too. Since she effectively moved herself in, Zephyr in particular had been - well, not a different person, but the doom and gloom that seems to perpetually surround him has diminished to an extent. It's a good feeling.

Leanne herself is something of an enigma. He has no idea about where she came from, and doesn't pursue it either. Their unspoken rule. Everyone has their skeletons, and if he doesn't want to share his, they definitely don't have to share theirs. Zephyr certainly doesn't, anyway. But Leanne is kind, stubborn, and naive to a fault. He thinks she's younger than Zephyr at first, and is completely thrown when she gives her age as twenty. She's blown away by Lily's boutique, and when he gives her free reign amidst her protests that he shouldn't, she eventually buys up almost half the shop.

The blonde hair does look good on her though. Brings out her eyes.

Unlike Zephyr, she also takes an active role in the house - which is not to say she's _good_ at it, but at least she tries. Her first attempt at breakfast results in burned everything, but Vashyron figures that's just fine. He can't cook anything past microwave meals as it is, and Zephyr took many, many attempts before he could produce anything halfway edible. He'll have to draw up a rota, he thinks, if she plans on staying.

But, as idyllic as it is, there is one noticeable snag. Leanne may fit right into their lives but he's very quickly running into the same problem he had when Zephyr first came to live with him. Their pay checks simply won't stretch to keep the three of them. So, one day, maybe three months after she first joined them, he asks, "Who wants some ice cream?"

Zephyr and Leanne look up at him from their seats on the couch, both of their faces contorted in confusion. "Ice cream?" Leanne says.

"Yeah, ice cream. I bet you didn't know the Arena is _known_ for its soft serve. Isn't that right, Zephyr?" he shrugs. That's a lie and a half. Everytime they go to the Arena Zephyr finds someway to weasel some out of the girl who sells it for less rubies than it should be. "You know what else it's known for?"

"No?" Leanne's says earnestly.

"Training. With guns, specifically. What do you say, Leanne? Want to see if you've got what it takes to use a gun?"

Zephyr sits up straight. "You can't-"

"Huh? Me?" Leanne cuts Zephyr off, pointing to herself. "Oh, I don't know...You'd really let me use one?"

"'Course. You're a part of this house now, so I don't see why you can't learn the tricks of the trade." Zephyr's glare has turned murderous. "Don't give me that. I let _you_ in the Arena despite every instinct telling me I shouldn't have. But, anyway Leanne, the point I'm trying to make is that, if you get good, maybe we can start taking harder jobs for more money. It'd make it a whole lot easier around here."

"I _would_ like to earn my own keep..." Leanne nods. "Do you really think I can?"

"Sure you can. Anyone can use a gun, and besides, you've got the best of the best teaching you." she looks at Zephyr. "No, no, not him! I'm offended. _Obviously_ I mean me."

Leanne giggles. Zephyr still doesn't look best pleased.  Vashyron, on the other hand, is thrilled with the idea.

And when they eventually get down there, she determinedly takes the gun in her shaking hands and she doesn't disappoint.

 _~x~_

And the next year passes. One night it rains and it pours. It lashes at the windows, and the TV is reduced to mere static. Vashyron sits in the middle of the sofa, Zephyr curled up one his right and Leanne with her legs tucked underneath her on his left. Sweet Home is warm despite the weather.

Times like this, their home is calm. Ordinarily, it's chaos. Running around checking ammunition here, weapons there, if their protective padding is firmly in place and if their client is trustworthy or not. Who's turn it is to make breakfast, or dinner. Cleaning up the coffee table when it gets too messy, trying to get the TV to work, fixing the generator when it's on the blink. Tonight, apart from the rain, things are quiet.

Vashyron finally pulls himself up to turn the TV off, the screen going blank and darkening the room. "Alright, kids, off to bed. You're taking up my bed and if you couldn't tell, I'm exhausted."

"Getting old, Vashyron?" Zephyr pipes up. Leanne snorts, her hands covering her mouth.

"I should kick you out in the cold for that crack," Vashyron says good-naturedly over Leanne's badly disguised peals of laughter. "Then again, what do I expect from some ungrateful teenager?"

Leanne giggles more as Zephyr crosses his arms against his chest. Hush falls over the three again, the roaring of the wind outside the only thing to be heard.

"My room will be cold though," Leanne says after a moment, yawning. "It's warm right here."

"That's because Vashyron's the human toaster," Zephyr says. "Who needs fancy Chandelier manors with heating when we have him?"

Vashyron sighs, sitting back down. "Let me guess. My bed's being shared. Again."

"You don't mind, do you?" Leanne yawns, stretching her arms. "We can just talk."

"About?"

"Anything. It doesn't matter what."

"Like the weather?" Zephyr says, "Because it's _awful._ "

Vashyron laughs, maybe a little harder than is warranted. "Basel seems to have a weather cycle that is as bad as its day and night one."

"I hate that so much," Leanne moans. "Especially when night just decides to suddenly drop when we're on a mission!"

"Try having it when you're throwing a grenade," Zephyr points out. "Or when a blackout happens."

"Yeah, because that goes so well." Vashyron says. "'Course, you know that first hand, don't you Zephyr?"

"Hey!" and they laugh genuinely. It doesn't matter about their pasts, of what they do and don't know about each other. They're three people who were thrown together through the same anomaly, and while Vashyron may not believe in _fate_ there has to be something more than coincidence there. 

When Zephyr finally drops off and his head falls against Vashyron's shoulder and Leanne finally curls up into his side and shuts her eyes, Vashyron remains awake for a little bit longer. He listens to the gears of Sweet Home, turning as faithfully as always.

This is where they built their home.

 


End file.
